It’s nice to be just me again: merely me. But I did enjoy my time as a pseudo-This. It was fun not knowing what I was posting until after I’d posted it. (Sorry if you don’t understand that but it would take too long to explain and it’s not all that interesting anyway.)
We aren’t talking today.
We usually arrive laden with culinary emergency provisions to ensure that the table does not lack things unavailable in France – but we forgot the hot cross buns. Easter without HCBs is Christmas without turkey. It’s not religious – it’s just that the good ones taste so... Mmm... spicy. Herself says I forgot them – but there’s no doubt in my mind who forgot them. We’ve heard of a man in Antibes called Geoffrey of London who sells exotic English fare to nostalgic expats: things like OXO (meat extract made from dried blood scraped from abattoir floors), Marmite (the same with refuse from the brewing process), Heinz Salad Cream – and I’m sure, Hot Cross Buns, plus the Frank Cooper’s Thick Cut Marmalade that goes on them. But Antibes is almost an hour away on a coastal road full of Easter traffic. So Easter will be HCB-less. I’m sure it’ll be all right by the end of the day – we’ve survived worse crises than this.
(Matter of fact I’m not all that crazy about HCBs – I just wanted to make trouble.) I don’t much like turkey either.